Dig Deeper
by BuffyAngel68
Summary: Neal jeers at Peter's latest choice of reading material, but the further in he gets the harder the assignment becomes.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Dig Deeper 1/2

Author: BuffyAngel68

Fandom/Pairing: White Collar - Peter/Neal

Rating: FRC

Summary: Neal jeers at Peter's next choice of reading material, but the further in he gets, the harder the assignment becomes.

AN: Very slight nod, at the end of the chap, to one of my other obsessions: NCIS. Blink and you'll miss it, but hardcore fans of the show may catch what I threw...

"Please. I don't think so." Neal protested mildly, pushing the book away from him. His ersatz, unofficial literature professor wouldn't take the offering back, however.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah... this." Neal retorted, gazing at the small book with disdain. "This is no challenge. It's practically Dr. Seuss."

"You mean it's too easy for a brain like you."

"Something like that."

"Yeah, well, this is your assignment. You're not getting another one 'till you finish and hand in your report on this."

"Peter... 'Tom Sawyer' ? If this is a joke, it's a bad one."

"When was the last time you heard me make any *kind* of joke, Caffrey? Huh? When?"

"Months ago. Even that I'm still not sure about."

"Right. Read the book."

"Come *on*..."

"Hey, if you wanted the right of veto, you should've demanded it up front. Too late now."

"But everybody knows this story."

"Is that what you think?"

This cryptic reply made Neal hesitate for several seconds, carefully studying Peter's face.

"Okayyy... what's up your so-called sleeve?"

"Are you reading the book or not?"

Again the younger man waited before answering.

"Absolutely no substitutions? You're sure?"

"Not a chance."

"Fine, but I'm writing my report in blue crayon." Neal shot back as he rose and began to leave.

"If you want a failing grade, go right ahead."

This stopped Peter's student in his tracks.

"You don't mean that." He replied quietly, fighting with everything he had not to let Peter see how deeply the threat had touched him.

"I don't? You really want me to let you get away with doing just enough? Let you slide by on your smile and your charm and ignore your *true* gifts?"

Neal swallowed hard and let a faint grin touch his lips.

"Yes?"

Peter simply stared him down until his charge relented. "Okay, okay. 'Tom Sawyer.' "

"One week."

"I hear and obey." Neal grumbled, sliding the battered paperback into his pocket as he turned and left the office.

THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER: NEAL'S APARTMENT

The moment Neal opened the door, Mozzie rushed in, staring around him in semi-panic.

"Where is he? Is it a gun or a knife?"

"Moz..."

"Is he in the back waiting to ambush me?" the smaller man continued, his tone more hushed in order no to alarm the supposed threat.

"What?"

"Feds love a good ambush. It's their favorite way of taking out a savvy target..."

"Moz, there's nobody else here."

"It's okay, kid. I know you have to say that so he doesn't blow a hole in you first."

"For God's sake, Moz..."

"Okay, okay. So what was the 911 call about, then?"

"I didn't mean it to sound that way. I just... I need help."

"I knew it had something to do with the fed..."

"It's nothing like that. He... he gave me an assignment... and it's messing with me. Big time."

"Yeahhh..." Moz replied cautiously as he slid into a chair. He could easily tell that his best friend was genuinely on the edge of descent into misery, a state he hadn't witnessed Neal in for several months. Forcing down his growing enmity at Peter, he focused on helping his brilliant buddy solve whatever problem the FBI had dragged him into this time. "So what'd he do and how bad do I get to hurt him for it?"

"I told you..."

"I know. Mea culpa. What's the assignment?"

Neal hesitated, frowned and gestured vaguely before finally stepping away a bit and gathering the detested book into one hand. He paused again then handed it off to Mozzie.

" 'Tom Sawyer'. You an' the fed looking at a rogue book dealer or something? Is the guy fronting for drug deals or people trafficking?

Ducking his head, Neal mumbled a few words. "Uhhh... in the less than immortal words of Brittany... hit me baby one more time."

"I said... I'm reading it. For credit."

"Credit? As in grades?"

"As in. He picks the book, hoping I'll get something out of it I can take into the real world and use to make my life better. I read, write a report... and we talk about it after. So he knows I understand."

"Neal..."

"Not now, okay? I swear, later you can yell and rant all you want. I need you to help me, Moz. Please." Neal pleaded quietly, dropping onto the couch facing his friend.

"With what? Interpreting? I know the colloquial way some of the dialogue is written makes it a little difficult, but..."

"Not for me. It's him... it's the character. You've known me so long... since I was thirteen. Was I... I mean... this book, it's like reading..."

"... your journals?"

"Yeah. You know I trust you and I shouldn't ask..."

"They're still safe. Nobody will ever find them."

Neal released a barely audible sigh of relief.

"So... was I?"

"Kind of. Your reasons were a lot different, though. He just wants to have fun and break the rules for the sake of doing it... to push the limits of his mind and the people around him. You... you were a busted up kid tryin' to survive in a world where nobody had your best interests at heart."

" 'Till you. From the first minute I knew your motives would always be pure when it came to me... and you'd do anything it took to keep me safe."

Mozzie blushed and looked away.

"Yeah, well... did you ever remember any of that stuff? From before we met?"

"I quit trying. I figure if I mentally redacted the better part of my first twelve years, there was a reason. Safer to leave it alone. Hey, you had dinner yet? We could order in... you could sleep on the couch. Last time you stayed you said you preferred the couch."

Mozzie responded instantly to Neal's thinly veiled petition with smiles and distraction, belatedly recalling that the slightest mention of his self-edited childhood memories often resulted in repeated cycles of ambiguous nightmares and tearful anxiety for the other man.

"Only if you let me consult on the book report."

"I can't. Peter will know if I don't write it myself. I keep telling myself I don't care what he thinks or how he sees me... sometimes I want it to be true. Sometimes..."

"Did I say anything about ghost-writing? I said consultation. I've only read Twain's collected works a thousand times. The fed can't object to a tutor, right?"

"No. I don't think he would. Chinese, Japanese, pizza, sandwiches..."

"Pizza."

"I was hoping you'd pick Chinese..."

"There's nothing wrong with how I like my pizza."

"You've *got* to be kidding. No cheese, peanut butter and pickles... ughhh. The delivery boy gives me the weirdest look..."

"Just make the call, Tom, while I skim the book to refresh my memory."

"Fine... Huck wouldn't make his best buddy order something so disgusting, I guarantee it..."

TBCompleted 


	2. Chapter 2

Dig Deeper 2/2

THE OFFICE: FOUR DAYS LATER

"Neal. Good lunch?"

"Yeah. I introduced Jones to Ethiopian food. He loved it."

"He's never been shy about diving into anything new. Especially if he can eat it. Is that your report?"

"Huh? Oh, right. It is. No blue crayon, I promise. I need to make sure about a couple things, though."

"Shoot."

"I hope you won't, but we'll have to see." Neal joked lamely as he took his seat. Peter reached out for the papers, but the young man held onto them.

"Questions first?"

"Please. First off... a tutor isn't against the rules, right?"

"That depends."

"Moz didn't write anything for me. The book... I didn't think it would twist my brain the way it did. The whole thing kind of... confused me. He just helped me get my head back on straight, that's all."

"In that case, tutors are not only acceptable, they're encouraged."

"Good. Okay... the second thing is that I need a favor. Maybe a big one, I don't know."

"Such as?"

"My records. I need to see them."

"Not likely Hughes will agree to that. Besides, there's not much in there you don't already know about."

"Not my FBI record or my prison files. I know you must've looked into everything while you were chasing me... that's SOP in a case like mine. All I'm asking for is a promise that you'll try and get me the pages that go all the way back to the beginning. Then... I'll hand over the report."

Peter frowned deeply, concern and curiosity warring for control of what he would say next. It came out a mixture of both.

"You're sure, kid? I looked at it once, way back. It took me a long time to push it outta my head. You may seriously regret ever making the deal."

"I don't care. I can handle whatever consequences there are. I just... I have to see... to read it for myself."

"Are you saying you don't remember? There's never been any hint of it in anything I've read." Peter pushed, concern now decisively winning the battle.

"Well, it's the truth. Security measures, I think. Maybe self-induced amnesia in the name of sanity? It's not that uncommon. I have to find out if I'm right... and how bad it was."

Peter carefully considered the issue for a long time before he responded.

"Birth info... names, dates, places... that's all you want?"

"Up to age thirteen. After that... the photo album's pretty much intact."

"No guarantees? I do my absolute best, try as hard as I can and whatever I'm able to get you, even if it's next to nothing... you accept it?"

"You have my word."

"And you have mine. Despite how it looks here at work, Hughes actually has a decent sized heart. I'll appeal to his compassion. I don't see how he can possibly refuse me. Now... report?"

Neal smiled thinly and finally handed in his finished work. While Peter read it, the other man wandered the office, alternating between people-watching through the door and staring out the window at the vigorous, dynamic city far below. Almost thirty minutes later, after going through the entire folder twice, Peter finally lowered the report to the desk and turned to speak to Neal, who was in the window portion of his rambling cycle.

"Excellent work, Neal. Mozzie did a really good job of helping you make the connections."

"He's known me a while. Nobody gets me like he does."

"Okay if I ask *how* long?"

Neal didn't respond, but after a few moments Peter realized the answer on his own. "You said thirteen... no wonder you two are so tight."

"He admits he saved me... but I can't remember what from and he won't tell me. Says the only good idea the feds ever came up with was 'need to know'. That's why I want the pages."

Peter scowled and stared down at his hands.

"I'm sorry, pal. I thought the book would just be another lesson. I didn't intend to dredge up anything... or make you go looking for stuff that's better off if it stays buried. The point of this isn't to cause you any more pain. That's the last thing..."

"Hey, I know..." Neal soothed, pushing off the wall and slowly moving back to his seat. "I may not have been happy about all this in the beginning," he said, waving vaguely at the door and the outer office. "but the idea wasn't to hurt me. As much as the world's ugliest ankle bracelet might frustrate me... it keeps me safe. *You* keep me safe."

Peter rose and took his turn at the window.

"I'm damn sure trying."

"And most of the time I'm grateful, even if I don't act like it. Speaking of gratitude... I think I figured out the reason you assigned me this particular book."

"So. Let's hear it."

Now it was Neal who couldn't find quite enough courage to look up as he spoke.

"Accountability. That and not dumping on the ones that give a damn and only want the best for you. I have to say... I don't like Tom a whole lot. He's just not sympathetic. He's got a roof, a bed, three meals... people more than willing to care for him and try to put a little knowledge and basic manners in his head... and the only voice he's listening to is that seductive whisper from his Id. I want, I need, I deserve... and to hell with anybody else's feelings."

"That's practically the definition of a pre-teen boy, isn't it? Toss in that he's an orphan who never had a real chance to learn the concepts of discipline and respect or why he should bother with them..."

"No excuse. He's obviously got a brain. He figured out how to lie, manipulate... he can learn how not to and he can learn what's really important."

Despite his best efforts, a tiny smile graced Peter's lips and he simply had to speak the words that were begging to be released.

"Projecting much?"

At first Neal glared daggers at his mentor, but the dark expression soon softened into a rueful grin.

"And I thought the only stupid question was the one you *didn't* ask." Neal snarked, certain he would get as good as he'd given in lieu of being reprimanded.

"Insulting the guy who could get your parole revoked isn't the smartest move either." Peter volleyed right back, his face alight with pleasure.

"Uh, that would be Hughes and he's not in the room at the moment, so I think I'm safe. Can I get my grade? If I don't get back to the cold cases my boss buried me in this morning, the slavedriver'll have my ass in a sling."

"Slavedriver? Sounds like somebody wants the plus sign behind his A wiped out."

"No! Tough, but fair, that's Agent Burke's middle name. Tough, but fair... and, boy, does he know a joke when he hears one..."

Once again, Peter detected traces of real unease beneath the surface shield of playfulness and humor. Though it concerned him, he kept his smile in place and strove to stay calm.

"Relax, kid. I didn't mean it. I'd never take back something you legitimately earned."

"A plus?"

"A plus." Peter confirmed, sliding the report into a drawer and turning a key in the lock.

Neal grinned, nodded and rose to his feet.

"So what's next?"

"I don't know yet. I'm still playing it by ear, waiting for inspiration. Gimme two or three days, alright? By the time I get a response to your records request... I should have your next assignment ready. Now get back to work before the 'slavedriver' decides to give you detention and keep you after school doing the week's filing for the whole office."

Neal laughed brightly as he walked backwards out of the small space.

"Tom didn't have to whitewash, I sure as hell can find a way out of scut work ."

Peter sobered just a bit.

"But if I did ask you to..."

Neal paused and cocked his head slightly then responded to the plea he now found in his mentor's expression.

"If you *asked*? I'd get it done no matter what."

"That's all it would take? A request instead of a command?"

"Hey, if Aunt Polly'd nagged and ordered a little less, 'requested' a little more... who knows? The story could've turned out completely different... but it'd still be a classic."

As Neal strolled away, Peter turned and sagged into his desk chair, questioning, for the hundredth time in the last few weeks, what he was doing and whether he had any right to let it continue.

END.  



End file.
